


I'll Spend Eternity Comparing All My Poetry To Yours

by clytemnestras



Series: Star Girls In Sweatpants [3]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, Polyamory, Stargirls Universe, Threesome - F/F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 10:43:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1507604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clytemnestras/pseuds/clytemnestras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dawn Summers, Amy Pond and Clara Oswald live in a house in the suburbs and enjoy feigning normalcy even when their scars are shining and they dream of the old impossible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Spend Eternity Comparing All My Poetry To Yours

The universe (and all the other ones) are really far away right now, which is a good thing, because Clara thinks she's finally got the soufflé recipe right and if anything interrupts it someone will cry. Dawn is filing through photographs of Clara and Amy and smiling but also sort of sobbing because she doesn't have any pictures left, and Amy is trying to organize their books but there are so many and they just lie in piles, gathering dust as she flicks through fairytales and thinks of her own.

No one speaks, and that's nice because the outside is loud and in here it's quiet like space and space is a bit like home for them.

The oven timer dings and Clara pulls the soufflé out. Everyone picks up a fork and takes a bite, and it's light on their tongues and tastes sweet but it melts away like clouds just a little too fast and suddenly it's deflated and lies hopelessly at the bottom of the dish.

Dawn lays her head on Clara's shoulder and Amy kisses her cheek and tells her she gets just a little closer every day.

They're out of eggs again.

**

Some nights Clara and Amy go stargazing and Dawn stays home, translating ancient texts and emailing them to Buffy so her fiance can compare his notes (she never did work out why that was so funny). She talks with her sister on Skype because New York is kind of far right now (but in six months Buffy will probably be here and Dawn will take her girls off to see The Big Apple and their paths just never seem to cross) and smiles when Buffy runs her hands along her belly and coos at the baby growing inside. She fritters the night away, washing dishes that could have waited until morning and dusts the living room even though it's not much of a mess and takes out her old journals and thinks about everything that's real and everything that's not.

(( _The skies, the stars, the places in-between; they aren't her world to play in. Clara and Amy smile and cry and they float very far away from her and she's so selfish trying to tether them to Earth. And yeah, she is selfish. They're hers, not the universe's. But she leaves them to dream about home - or escaping, whatever - and when they come back with tear stains on their cheeks she lets them snuggle together instead of with her even though her soul fractures just a bit_ ))

Clara comes back in at Three AM muttering about the cold and slides herself in beside Dawn on the King-sized bed and Dawn pretends to still be sleeping. The bedroom walls are covered in drawings of memories that are real and unreal all at the same time because they really aren't allowed to forget these things, even if they want to (or so Amy says, even when the headaches come back and she sobs into Dawn's arms because she can and can't remember which life of hers is real and Clara just sits there beside them thinking about breaking apart).

When Dawn wakes up her head is on Amy's shoulder. That's important. She has to remember that.

**

(( _One of them, maybe all of them, wakes up screaming. An eternity runs through her brain and is trying to burst out and tear the world apart. Everything shifts and changes. She's alone. She was made so that the world could bend around her and fix itself to her whims and memories and purpose._

This is all she was ever supposed to be.

The power of everything is locked away inside one little girl.

Then she's not alone, and the weight of the world is shared on equal shoulders. Three girls stand on the edge of causality and nothing really matters at all.))

**

Dawn rides pillion on Clara's motorcycle and clings on the leather that clothes her girlfriend. The wind that fills her lungs liberates her soul as much as it screws up her hair. By the time Clara drops her off at the library (and shut up, librarians are cool) her heart is somewhere in her throat and that’s almost a good thing. Clara speeds off to school like the road was built to part for her and a part of Dawn misses her already, like she knows that one wrong move and Clara will slip away from her (from Earth) forever. Like she knows that keeping Clara is impossible.

An hour later she gets a text in Latin that reads: "I love your stupid nose", and it's beautiful, because those were the first words Dawn taught Clara to write in Sumerian but also because Dawn kind of hates her nose and also because it was the first thing she heard Amy say and everything feels very okay.

**

Dawn and Amy go for lunch on weekdays, but mostly just drink coffee because there's not always time and food is irrelevant most days because Clara already has a banquet ready for dinner.

They sit in the café and Amy tells fairytales, about starlight and slain beasts and the end and start of everything whilst Dawn scribbles down memories of monsters and the dark. They swap, scrawl and savour these moments and weave them together like a tapestry. The book should be finished by August, but it may never see daylight. These things are too close to very scarred hearts to be let out and consumed.

Amy takes a sip of her macchiato and the small spectacles slip down her nose, so Dawn leans in to steal a kiss, savouring the taste of coffee and sweetness on Amy's tongue before scooting the specs back up Amy's nose as they continue to write in silence.

**

When weekend comes, no one really does much. Hours are wasted just reading things and drinking tea (lots of tea in Clara's case) and basking in their shared love of soundlessness. When night rolls in they gather under blankets and curl up on the sofa to watch a movie. They're careful, though. Amy can't watch rom-coms (especially Richard Curtis) because the tears start to drip down her face uncontrollably for a while even when she's not really sad; Dawn won't watch musicals because they were Tara's favourite, like all the old epics were her Mom's, and Clara doesn't really mind as long as there's no thinking for an hour or two.

When she picks Harriet the Spy again no one says a word.

**

It's Sunday again, and now Dawn is organizing the books that litter the threadbare carpet whilst Amy sifts through old photographs and buries them in albums.

The universe (and all the other ones) are really far away right now, which is a good thing, because Clara thinks she's finally got the soufflé recipe right and if anything interrupts it she really will cry.

**Author's Note:**

> I said Buffy was pregnant here and in the next story that is like totally gone, because I changed a plot point rather dramatically to involve River Song instead. I do, however, have very strong feelings about the image of Dawn chatting to her pregnant sister over skype cooing over her swollen belly and her linguist fiance chatting from the back room so I don't want to change it. Uh, sorry


End file.
